


Supply and Demand

by astolat



Series: Captain America works [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Inappropriate Use Of Work Resources, M/M, Missing Scene, Virginity, What Makes Steve Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam folded his arms and glared at him. “Okay, you know what, now I’m starting to think you’re not even trying.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Supply and Demand

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to Cesperanza and lim for beta! ♥
> 
> For the [What Makes Steve Happy](http://astolat.tumblr.com/post/84670123408/what-makes-steve-happy-prompt-challenge) challenge.

“I don’t know,” Steve said, and felt embarrassed as soon as he’d said it, because what kind of dumb jerk didn’t know what made him happy, and anyway, what good did it do to say something like that? It wasn’t like Sam was going to be able to tell _him_ , even if Sam seemed to have his head on straighter than anybody Steve had ever met. He half wanted to look away, so he didn’t have to see Sam get sorry for him. That happened when he talked to girls sometimes, these days; at least, the girls who weren’t all, well, _intense_.

But Sam just nodded, like he hadn’t been expecting anything else. “Okay,” he said. “How about this: you ever have a moment where you thought, _shit I’m about to die?_ ”

“One or two,” Steve said wryly.

“Right,” Sam said. “Any of those times, you ever think to yourself, _and damn, I never—”_

“Got laid,” Steve said, mouth running way out in front of him, and felt the red climbing down his chest.

Sam folded his arms and glared at him. “Okay, you know what, now I’m starting to think you’re not even trying.”

“I’m trying!” Steve said, blushing harder. “I’m—I have a list!”

“Dude, you can get it in thirty seconds flat, anywhere you are,” Sam said.

“What, like right here?” Steve fired back.

“Damn straight,” Sam said. “What, you think I wouldn’t bang Captain America in a supply closet? Don’t get me wrong,” he added. “I’m not saying sex is some magic cure-all, but if you _want_ it, go on and _have_ some, and maybe you’ll meet—”

“Are you kidding?” Steve blurted.

Sam paused. Then he said, “ _Hell_ no,” and grabbed him by the belt, and there _was_ a supply closet and Sam shoved him into it and got Steve’s pants open, and slid to his knees, and maybe it wasn’t thirty seconds flat; maybe it was more like—thirty-five, or forty—Steve whimpered and came.

“Oh,” he said, dazedly. His heart was thumping like a brass band and he was sweating all over. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, standing up and grinning at him, warm and soft and teasing, except he was also wiping his _mouth_. Steve stared at him, mesmerized. “Like I was saying.”

“I should have more sex, huh?” Steve said.

“I’m starting to think so,” Sam said, and then Sam was curving a hand around Steve’s head, tilting him, and he was getting _kissed_ , and the most amazing thing about it was all he had to do was just stay there and the kissing kept on going. He’d kissed before; he’d even _been_ kissed before, but it had always fallen apart. He knew this was supposed to come naturally, like breathing, like running, like all the things that never _had_ come naturally, and although the serum had fixed the rest of them, he’d never figured this one out. He always kept getting distracted thinking about what to do and when and how hard and what if she didn’t want and maybe he shouldn’t and how could you _tell_ , there weren’t any rules once you got this far.

The couple times he’d just tried guessing, he’d always guessed wrong, and he hated it; he hated having to _decide_ , but right now he didn’t seem to have to decide anything at all, because Sam was holding his head still and kissing him, slow and thorough. And just when Steve started to wonder whether maybe he should, maybe he was supposed to—that was when Sam started unbuttoning his own shirt, so that meant Steve could take off his jacket, and then Sam reached out and grabbed Steve’s t-shirt and pulled it up and over his head, so Steve didn’t have to decide when that was supposed to come off, either. Sam took off his own tee and moved in close and wrapped his arms around Steve’s body, his hands sliding up Steve’s back, so Steve could touch too, and oh _God_ , Sam was—he felt— _amazing,_ hot and smooth-skinned, the hard curve of muscles all over his body, and—Steve clenched his jaw and held back, because Sam hadn’t come yet at all, so—

“Oh, really?” Sam murmured against his cheek, low, kissing along Steve’s jaw, and he slid his hand around Steve’s dick and gave it a long smooth pull, encouraging.

“Oh,” Steve groaned, and came again, all over Sam’s hand, all over himself, dripping and wet, but Sam just groaned too and said, “Man, after this you’re letting me take you home. I want you in a bed with some room to work with.”

“Yes?” Steve said, blindly, not disagreeing; yes, anything Sam said, yes.

Sam groaned again and said, low and deep, “Turn around.”

Steve turned around immediately, and it kept on going; it got even _better._ Sam pressed his whole body up against him from behind and slipped a hand around front, sliding all over Steve’s chest, thumb rubbing back and forth and back and forth across his nipple, and it hadn’t occurred to Steve that he’d like that, but oh, _oh_ , and from behind Sam was sliding a wet slick finger between—Steve jumped a little and shivered.

“That all right?” Sam murmured.

Steve shut his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. “Yeah. Yes,” he said, and the second time Sam touched him, he only twitched a little, and then Sam was sliding his finger back and forth, nudging in a little, pulling out and rubbing again, and Steve couldn’t _stop_ shivering.

It wasn’t anything like what he’d imagined; it was better, it was so good, and it just kept happening. Steve could feel Sam’s cock against his thigh, hard and full and so hot, and he could imagine Sam putting it in him; _doing_ him. All the things guys said around the campfire, the words they used, suddenly made beautiful, perfect sense with Sam’s arm wrapped around his waist and the steady sweet slide of his finger in and out. And he didn’t have to worry, or try to figure it out; Sam was nuzzling at the back of his neck, murmuring against his skin, saying, “That’s it, baby. Just like that. God, you’re—” Sam broke off, half-laughing, pressing his head against Steve’s shoulder like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

Steve fumbled a hand down and laced his fingers with Sam’s on his stomach. He braced his other hand on the wall and said, “More?” and Sam said, “Oh, yeah,” and then Sam pressed another finger into him and slid them in and out, giving it to him, hard and fast and faster, and Steve came again, came and came, shuddering helplessly in Sam’s arms.

His knees wanted to quit after that one, but Sam _still_ hadn’t—“Sorry,” Steve said, trying to mean it; he felt unbelievably greedy, but _wonderful_. The only times he’d ever felt like this, since waking up, had been when he was fighting or running; the only times he’d ever felt back in tune with the world.

Sam laughed softly and said, “Dude, that’s the whole idea.”

“I’m pretty sure the idea is you get some too,” Steve said.

“If you think I’m not getting some here, you’re not paying attention,” Sam said, and dragged his full cock deliberately over Steve’s ass, a long leisurely stroke that lifted Steve up on his toes, a new jolt of pleasure rolling through him. “But I’d just as soon keep the party going, and since it looks like you can go again—”

“Oh, I _can_ ,” Steve said devoutly. “I can.” He turned around and pulled Sam close against him.

They fucked like that for another twenty minutes; slow hot rutting against each other, Sam’s cock nudging between his thighs, bumping against his, kissing and kissing until the last time around Sam came with him, too. They stood there panting and sticky a few moments, both trembling, then Sam let himself down to the floor of the closet slowly and carefully, like a drunk trying to get down before he fell down. Steve slid down next to him and they collapsed against the back wall. Steve’s pants were around his ankles. Sam was next to him, shoulder to shoulder, eyes closed and panting. He was shining with sweat. There were paper clips scattered across the floor like confetti: they’d banged into the shelves a few times.

“Damn,” Sam said, faintly. “I’m going to need to work out more.”

“Yeah?” Steve said, tipping his head so he could see Sam’s face. He couldn’t help the hopeful note creeping in.

Sam opened his eyes for that. He reached out and slid a hand onto Steve’s cheek, pulled him in for another kiss. Steve leaned into it, hungry, and Sam started laughing into his mouth, shaking his head even while he kissed him some more. “Not even trying,” he said, affectionately.

“I guess I should start making up for it, then,” Steve suggested.

“Oh yeah, very smooth,” Sam said.

Steve laughed too, helplessly, except at the same time his eyes were prickling with tears. It seemed almost wrong for anything to be this easy, this good; he couldn’t remember the last time, he couldn’t remember _any_ time—

“Hey,” Sam said, softly, and Steve shook himself out of it, made himself smile.

“You, uh, mentioned something about a bed?” he said.

Sam was watching him with serious, gentle eyes. But he just said, “I’ll even throw in a round of laundry and a shower.”

#

Even Sam’s house felt good—ordinary, normal, in a way that made something ease up in Steve’s back when he walked inside. His own apartment wasn’t like this: even six months in, it still felt fake, like that stage-set he’d first woken up in, and nothing he did seemed to make it better. He’d bought things that felt familiar, and then he’d bought things that felt modern, and either way they all just seemed like props. Sam had shelves full of pictures, family and friends grinning out of them; lots of books with cracked spines and a stack of letters near the door; furniture that just looked comfortable, lived-in. It didn’t look anything like any house Steve had ever visited, in Brooklyn, but it felt like them; it felt like a home.

They stripped and threw everything into the washer, and Sam showed him to the shower and they spent another hour making out in there, until the water went ice-cold all of a sudden and they both yelped and scrambled out so fast they nearly took out the shower curtain. They toweled off shivering and then finally made it to the bed Sam had promised him, but even as Steve fell back onto the mattress, he realized in a vague, far-off way that he’d honest-to-God hit a wall: he was _tired_. “Wow,” he said, staring at the ceiling fan turning lazy circles.

“Hm?” Sam said drowsily, next to him, but Steve was already too far gone to answer.

#

It was getting dark outside by the time he woke up. Sam wasn’t in bed, but that didn’t matter: there were noises from the kitchen, someone else moving inside the house, and something smelled amazing: home-cooked food. Steve got up and padded naked to the kitchen and watched Sam dishing up giant bowls of pasta and sauce. “Can I help?” he asked.

“Glasses in the cupboard on the left, there’s cold water in the fridge,” Sam said. He was wearing shorts and nothing else, so Steve had some hope there was another round in his future. He hooked his own briefs out of the dryer and put them on, then got the water. They both ate through the pasta silently and with serious dedication; the sauce was good, out of a can but with a bunch of meat and sausage dumped in and some herbs too, and the pasta was a little soft, the way Steve had always eaten it; even though that was apparently wrong and if you followed the instructions on the box these days it always came out hard.

And afterwards Sam did take him back to the bedroom, but instead of sex he put on a Washington Mystics game and talked Steve through all the players and the strategy. Steve watched for a bit and said, “Are they—any good?”

Sam shrugged. “Worst record in the league, pretty much. But they’re the home team, you know?”

Steve nodded.

It was nice that the game wasn’t that close: once the Mystics ended up twenty points down in the second quarter, Sam left it muted, and they talked over it, about basketball versus baseball, pick up games and fights they’d gotten into as kids, how going to live games beat watching it on TV; then Sam said, “Like a rock concert—have you been to a concert yet?”

Steve made a face. “I’ve tried listening to rock, I’m not a big fan.” But Sam was shaking his head.

“That’s because you’ve never gone live,” he said. “It’s not about the music. It’s about being in the stadium when your guy hits a grand-slam to take the lead, except it’s like that the whole time, and you’re all in it together—the whole place, everybody, and nobody’s got to lose.”

“Sounds more fun when you talk about it,” Steve said softly, and his cheeks went red and hot when Sam looked at him, steady. He hoped Sam would, and then Sam did; Sam leaned over and kissed him again.

It was maybe even better than the first rounds of sex had been, making out lazily, not urgent this time, talking quietly at the same time, laughing, with the TV flickering color over their bodies. They kept going a while; the game ended; it was getting late. Steve wondered if maybe Sam would ask him to stay. He imagined waking up in the morning lying next to him, sunlight coming in; it made his chest feel tight. He could make Sam breakfast; or maybe try giving him a blowjob, because that had been amazing. He wondered if he should ask—

“So what I’d like to do right about now,” Sam said, “is ask you to stay.”

“But,” Steve finished for him, because he could hear it coming. “You’ve got a busy day tomorrow?”

Sam gave a little head-shake, a shrug. “Nah, just the usual, go for a run, work after. That’s not why I’m not going to ask.” He was looking at Steve straight on, intent, and something about it made Steve’s breath come a little quicker. “If I asked, you’d stay, we’d have breakfast, maybe go a few more rounds in the morning—”

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Steve said, clearing his throat.

“No, it doesn’t,” Sam said. “But you just turned the key in the ignition on a new Maserati.” He ran his knuckles down Steve’s chest. “And I’m thinking maybe I don’t just want to be the one you take on a test drive. I like you, Steve Rogers. I think I might make a play for you.”

Steve had to swallow to speak, and maybe that was a bad idea anyway. “Oh. I—oh.” He felt fumbling and stupid and happy all at the same time.

Sam was smiling. “So I think I want to leave you wanting more. There’s no need to rush anything here. You’re just getting started.”

“You know, I’m ninety-five,” Steve said, a little plaintive. He _did_ want more; wanting more wasn’t a problem.

“Being on ice for seventy years doesn’t make you ninety-five, it makes you twenty-five and cold,” Sam said. “Let’s get you warmed up first.” He nudged Steve. “You have any plans Saturday?”

“I—no,” Steve said.

“All right,” Sam said. “We’ll go out. Maybe there’s a concert in town, we’ll see whether you like it. If you don’t, we’ll leave early, go park somewhere and make out in my car.”

Steve sighed a little, and then it occurred to him—that was a _date_ ; he was getting asked out on a date, with pretty good odds he was going to get laid at the end of it, and— “I’m going to be thinking about this _all week_ ,” Steve groaned.

Sam grinned wide and bright and completely heartless. “That’s the idea.”

“Can I see you before then?” Steve tried.

“No,” Sam said, cheerfully. “Doesn’t mean you have to sit around the house, though. Go ask somebody out for coffee, pick someone up at a bar, have a little fun. Get yourself some basis for comparison.” He gestured up and down his body. “I want you to fully understand just how awesome a deal is on offer here.”

“Well, I don’t know, are you sure you’ve made enough of an impression?” Steve said, edging a little closer. “Maybe you want to—”

“Get out of my bed, Rogers,” Sam said sternly. “You want it, you’ll get it. On Saturday.”

Steve flopped back against the pillows and heaved a deep sigh and then climbed out of bed. He’d put his clothes on a chair; he pulled them back on. Sam stretched comfortably on the bed watching him, all that bare skin begging to be touched again, and Steve made one last eyebrow-raised try at him, holding his t-shirt ready and posing a little bit, showing off. But Sam just gave him a slow, heavy-lidded smile and stroked a hand over his own dick, and okay, that had just backfired. Steve groaned and turned his back and pulled his shirt on.

Sam did kiss him one last time at the door, a long melting-hot kiss with his strong hands on Steve’s hips holding him for it, sweet and deep. “That’s going to have to be enough of an impression to hold you,” he said finally, voice gone a little deep and raspy, giving Steve a little push down the walk.

Halfway home, night air ruffling through his hair, Steve realized he was smiling. 

**Author's Note:**

> All feedback loved here or [on tumblr](http://astolat.tumblr.com)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Supply and Demand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13219494) by [RsCreighton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/pseuds/RsCreighton)




End file.
